Here Comes the Anxiety
by Killy Cheesestake
Summary: When Artemis Crock is most alone, she turns to one of the three people she finds she cannot hate. The only civilian she's ever trusted with more than her name. Artemis finds she has to put her faith, her trust, her safety and her sanity in the what she hopes are the very capable hand of Richard Grayson. Artemis and Dick friendship fic set before Auld Acquaintances.
1. Pride

**A/N:** So, this is my first foray into the Young Justice fanfiction community. I had originally planned for it to be a one-shot so I could better break the ice, but the plot sort of blossomed in my head as I wrote so if anyone watches the fic, expect it to be three or four chapters long.

It's intended to be a Dick and Artemis friendship fic, but it can be interpreted romantically if you'd like to, I suppose. Also, the story is set before Auld Acquaintances. The T is for language, nothing else.

This hasn't been beta-ed, either. If anyone is interested in doing so for future chapters, I would be beyond grateful.

* * *

She never did like letting her feelings show.

Doing so had been a mistake- a hindrance- all through her old high school life, and it was being a hindrance to her now as the prodigy of the renowned Green Arrow. Granted, she was still in high school, even if that high school was technically a "private academy" that she attended at Paula's insistence. Still a teenager whose well-meaning, if overbearing, mother was constantly opposing her "extracurriculars". Still a girl whose feelings for a certain redheaded boy erred more on the side of migraines than the stomach butterflies he used to give her.

Even the villains she fought so ferociously now mocked her, calling her weak. It was bad enough that her damnable father wouldn't leave them alone, all concern for her privacy waylaid like so much nothing. Bad enough that Chesire had found a way through her armor by threatening _him,_ reading her as easily as she had _before_ she'd left her sister alone with their drunken father. Bad enough that the two of them together had bashed without concern her carefully constructed façade between her team and her home; between her family and her blood.

She would be damned if she showed anymore feelings.

She would be fucking damned.

So why was it then that, adorned was in her dark green, Artemis Crock was racing against the dim night sky to escape her mother's palpable disappointment, the glaring accusations burning at her back even as she retreated from their view? Why was it that, torn from eyes by the harsh, cold wind, she allowed tears to make their salty, residued paths down her cheeks?

Why was it that she slipped across Gotham's rooftops on her way to the lone, ever-untouched fortress of safety offered by the leering city?

Because, secure behind shields of marble and gold, the one person in the entire damn world with whom she'd trust her heart lived there (she wouldn't grant him safekeeping of her identity, of course, but she trusted him with her heart nonetheless). Because when she put on the mask, she didn't want to be a student or a teenager. Didn't want to be the daughter of The Huntress or the disappointment of Sportsmaster. When she put on the mask, she wanted- _needed_- to be just Artemis. She needed to be able to escape. And the only way to do that was to be sure she could keep Artemis-the-child, Artemis-the-_person_, under lock and key.

And the only way to be sure she could keep that part of her locked down was to, God help her, _talk_ about it.

It would have been such a laughable predicament if it hadn't been her predicament. The slowly shifting landscape beneath her and the dancing colors of the sky above her did little to ease her anxiety; the implications of what awaited her making her stomach turn mutinously. Pressed low against the grimy skyline, she forced her tired body to stay alert, willed her weary senses to keep vigilant. Gotham's villains had a knack for appearing at the worst of times, and one of the city's rare, calm nights was practically an open invitation for an Arkham escape.

Of course this woman- this girl, by most standards- was no coward. All of Gotham and, by now, she hoped, Star City, knew that was true. Artemis had fought scarier than a man with an arctic bird fetish, but she had no desire to do so tonight. She had _seen_ the difficulty Robin and his mentor had sometimes dealing with the madmen housed behind the Asylum's towering, iron gates and _knew_ of even more of them. Even Artemis had to acknowledge that, despite her bitter resentment and heated opposition, she would never come close to putting so much as a scratch on any of them.

Oh, how she hated them all with a passion. All of them, every single one. And she didn't just direct all this fiery hate towards those lunatics, no, there was too much for that. She hated the whole world, everyone who ever doubted her and everyone who ever judged her wrongly. From the shallow crowd of bullies and future failures that had ridiculed her, to the convict acquaintances of her parents she had, in childhood, ventured to consider friends, she had grown to hate them all. On one hand, the former were the people who had, and would, never be witness to her family's fall from glory and success in The Life or their subsequent descent into poverty. They had little to judge on and their opinions meant nothing to her except as a possible source of amusement.

On the other hand, the latter were the ones who held her in high ass contempt, spat on her for the world she had chosen to leave, laughed at her for the people with whom she'd taken company instead, because they _knew_ exactly what and who it was that she had given up by joining the team. It was them she used to trust with her fears, her aspirations, her_self_ and them whose betrayal, or maybe who betraying, cut the deepest. And when the knife digs that deep, it's usually coming from right behind you.

She found she even resented the team nowadays, and the sanctuary they were able to find in each other. For them, joining Young Justice had allowed them to escape whatever dogged nightmares ghosted behind them, but for her? The team had only brought her closer to that filthy, savage, heartless piece of garbage that still got to- would _always _get to- smugly claim the name "Dad."

She even got the very distinct feeling that the cheery, bright-eyed martian still held sway over _his_ affections. That she still, unwittingly and unwillingly as it may be, jeopardized their relationship far more than any of their many spats. Admittedly, they didn't have much of a relationship at all, but it still pulled at her heartstrings whenever they spoke, whenever eye contact became inevitable, and whenever the other would start to say something, only to be cut off.

She actually had to run from him once, when he had interrupted their conversation to jokingly call out some lame, half-assed come-on to M'gann. She had fled, the beginnings of the most painful sobs bubbling up in her chest. She heard him call out to her, but she didn't turn back.

That had been four days ago. And now here she was, the mansion just beginning to appear over the city skyline, some terrible _feeling _knotting inside her stomach. She needed to get rid of the feeling. To exorcize it from her body just as she had expelled the love for her father that she had clung to for so long. To scrub it away with the words of one of the few people who hadn't yet received that fiery hate of hers.

And there were two people- no three, with the redhead boy being the first and, in all honesty, her mother being the second- she found she did not hate, found she could not hate. And while she ran from the second and, by extension, the first, here she was running _to_ the third. The only person she had ever felt safe exposing her heart to. The only civilian she'd ever trusted with more than her name. The only human- or alien, for that matter- on the planet who knew nothing of every important thing she'd ever done, of any truly significant moment in her existence since that day Jade had left her alone and yet still seemed to care for her anyway.

Artemis was running to Richard Grayson.

She came to the unpleasant realization that she wasn't quite certain as to how to go about what she wanted to do now that she was there, standing awkwardly under the bright. luminescent glare of the mansion portico, feeling especially small and vulnerable without the mask she had hurriedly stuffed into her pocket and with her quiver, bow and hero suit concealed under the baggy sweatsuit she had, thank God, thought to bring with her as she stole from her apartment. All sorts of foolish seemed to emanate from how she carried herself with a surprisingly small amount of her usual self confidence; it was a new sensation for her, not having her usual self-assuredness, but then again, this whole deal was new to her entirely.

How exactly was she suppose to put into words why she had just knew to be here, how she had bolted from Paula's lecture with the distinct purpose of seeking out the black haired teen? How was she supposed to express what it was she wanted from him, what words she needed to hear, knowing only he could be the one to say them?

"Hey, Dick. I just realized how badly I needed to see you. Ignoring the fact that that I have never met your father or been to your house and can't actually tell you what's wrong, do you think I could stay the night?"

Oh, that would never do. You didn't just waltz in and demand stay at Wayne Manor. Anyway, she couldn't have him thinking she wanted something romantic- that was the last thing she needed- and it sure as hell sounded like she did as she played with the words in her head.

She should have anticipated better, rather than spending her travel wallowing in her recently realized hate. Because God knows she didn't have to wallow, what with it already draping heavily around her conscience.

So when, without her even knocking, the large double doors swung open from the inside and she came face to face with a strangely unperturbed butler, Artemis was suddenly painfully aware that she had absolutely no business whatsoever for being there unannounced and uninvited. And on a school night, no less.

"Why good evening Miss…Crock, is it?" There wasn't even a hint of surprise in that tone as he opened the door in what seemed like an invitation for her to step past the glaring fluorescent light and into the softer, lamp-lit foyer; while the older man spoke with such fluent grace and ease, the teenager found herself at a garbled loss for words. She watched him, slight perplexed as to why he seemed to be expecting her, or why he was otherwise accustomed to strange visitors in the middle of the night, but nonetheless allowed herself to be ushered in.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes, sir." She had to pinch herself to bring about the response, distracted by the gleam off cherry wood floors and the tapestries displayed so lavishly on the wall. "I'm sorry that it's so late, but is Dick still awake?"

"Awake but not present, I believe. He and Master Bruce were just leaving to fulfill some late obligations that they had otherwise neglected." Even as he spoke, the butler offered her a seat in a waiting room off the main hall, its cushions illuminated by the faint, welcoming pulse of a lit hearth. "I would, of course, be more than pleased to go see whether they have yet departed."

Another delay on her part. Artemis hadn't yet taken the offered chair in anticipation of the conversation's course- he would say, "If the matter is of pressing importance, I could go fetch him" or something along those lines and she, the ever-polite guest, would be expected to decline and take her leave. And she would know that was expected because he would say "if" which is adult code and usually comes with a "this seems ridiculous and irrational and I'd like you to leave but" implied to be amended before the "if."

But he hadn't, so she didn't, and so she was once again at a loss for what to say.

Maybe this man was cleverer than her policy on first impressions would allow her to believe. After all, anything that drove a sixteen year old girl across an entire city in the middle of the night was likely "pressing," and he had been accommodating to that thus far.

"Uh, yeah," she repeated again, wincing at her own lack of eloquence. "That would be great, sir."

"Alfred." he corrected gently, beginning to withdraw from the room before her tinnier, timid inquiry stopped him.

"Alfred, then." A pause. God, so many pauses. Her voice was almost too small to catch him as he left the waiting room. "How did you know my name?"

His own pause, and the way his mouth held in a slight "o," as though he had begun to answer and then stopped himself, lingered in the silence between them just a second too long. Artemis almost thought he wouldn't be forthcoming with an answer.

Finally came: "As Master Bruce's butler, I make a point of knowing those that the Wayne Foundation grants scholarships to, Miss Crock. You'd be surprised how many appear at our door at one point or another." He amended a slight, knowing smile to the reply and Artemis noted he seemed to particularly stress "appear."

Before Artemis could decide on which of her many other questions to broach, Alfred had already taken his leave with another pair of murmured words. He left Artemis brooding in his surprisingly tangible wake, her hand shoved deep into her pocket so that the green mask hidden there could anchor her while she collected her thoughts. What exactly was she going to say to Dick?

The fire hissed behind her and Artemis, slipping from her train of thought, noticed for the first time that it and a single, pale strip of lights were the sole illumination in the room. It was enough, of course, and though she half expected it, the light didn't flicker eerily, but the dimness still lent an ominous air to the portraits on the walls. The whole room felt sinister, really, but Artemis reassured herself that it was just fatigue and unease worming their way under her skin.

Sure, the stuff was creepy, but that was okay. She loved that kind of stuff. She did a kickass creepy.

Still, she knew it was going to be a long night.

* * *

**A/N (again): **I do apologize if anyone thought Artemis was a little OOC, but I _do _think she has an anger like this somewhere inside of her. A resentment. Frustration. Maybe we don't see it _because_ she has people like Dick in her life. Because she, God help her, talks about it.

Thanks for reading, of course! Dropping me a review would be fantastic! I will try to mentally send you hugs and kitten gifs from my corner of the internet if you do.


	2. Pomp

So in my vague defense, I originally had every intention of publishing this in a reasonable amount of time after the first chapter. Not that that means much.

I had to work with a lot of aspects of writing that I'm not too good at with this chapter, so it may not be fantastic. I hope you still enjoy it.

This is still unbetaed, and the invitation to beta will always be open for anyone who'd like the responsibility.

* * *

Eventually, Artemis's white-knuckled grip on the chair's back slackened, only adding one more stiff muscle to the deafening cacophony her body was howling at her. She ached _everywhere_ and, with the mask off, she found not heeding her body's demands much more difficult. Though the tight, padded armor of her uniform clung to the curves of her body, sticking painfully to the sweat the pooled around her hips and arms under the sweat suit, not having on the mask meant the problem still presented itself. To her, it was the only part of her uniform that truly signaled her alter-ego to emerge and that alter-ego brought with it a better pain tolerance than Artemis-the-person could ever aspire to. Without it, she felt naked. And, the clarification flitted across her mind once again, not in the fun way.

Tempted, she fingered the mask. Obviously, if she were to talk to Dick she needed to the liberty to not be the just-Artemis and putting it on would reveal her identity anyway, but Artemis-the-person was much more susceptible to pain than the former. The just-Artemis didn't often hurt, but she was used to heeding her body's aches when Artemis-the-person got to take center stage. Being stuck in this middle ground didn't seem to allow her escape from the aches the just-Artemis had acquired. It was unfortunate, if she was going to understate. And the way she tended to deal with confrontation as of late, understating was an expression she was getting more and more comfortable with.

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from her pocket and its hidden comforts and sunk into the welcoming leather of the fireside seat. She was surprised to find it soft and worn, what looked to be well cared for even rough and cracked in some places. Artemis had expected the chair to be stiff and unused, much like the mansion itself seemed to be, but as soon as her eyes moved from tracing each flaw on the chair she understood why. Looking anywhere but down, it was nearly impossible to not see the portrait of the elder Waynes staring kindly from their eternal perch above the fire place. She could imagine someone sitting here often to stare at the image of their lost parents, and while Bruce Wayne did seem to be an impersonal, detached character, Artemis wouldn't be surprised if he often chose to sit with the immortalization of his family. When _she_ was younger, parts of her mattress springs had worn and broken from the many occasions she would curl up in the corner of her bed and stare at a picture of her smiling mother taken before Artemis was even aware enough to understand who exactly the Huntress was.

As the stuffing in the chair shifted to accommodate her weight, Artemis allowed it to swallow her shape and her reverie. Idly tracing one of the veins in the leather with a rounded fingernail, Artemis carefully steered her thoughts towards her current situation. Her silent beration towards her own neglectfulness was ever bit as vicious as her father's had been when she was a child. Artemis was surprised by how instinctually she had reacted when she decided to come to Wayne Manor, how visceral her response to what should have been a standard mother's worry.

In fact, on reflection she was surprised by a lot of things, and most of them weren't her own doing. Not, obviously, how it was that the Wayne Foundation continued to offer such weighty scholarships- that was obvious by the decorum; she wouldn't know how to use all that money, either- but why was it that Alfred was so unaffected by her appearance? Why was it acceptable, conventional, even, for Wayne scholarship receivers to just show up at a billionaire's door? Who exactly did the scholarships go to? And why would Dick and his guardian would be "taking care" of anything at eleven on a Wednesday?

The explanation of "gang operation" was almost convenient- and amusing- enough for her to entertain.

Still, she dismissed the theory immediately as ridiculous- though that didn't assuage her curiosity- as the foreboding of hushed voices and returning footsteps quieted her theories. She had to be guarded around this kid. Artemis had no doubt he was talented enough to deduce her identity if given enough slack.

After all, he was Dick Grayson. Thirteen years old. Brilliant. Charming. Talented enough to catch the adoptive eye of Bruce Wayne. But to say he had boundary issues would be putting it politely.

The footsteps soon quieted, leaving, she assumed, Dick Grayson and Alfred the Butler- she really should've asked for his full name- standing in the waiting room's doorway. She didn't crane her neck to see them from her fire-facing seat. Instead, something in the glow of the fire must've become epiphany-inducing-level interesting, as her eyes stayed on the paneling beside the hearth, mapping the swirls of grain in the wood.

Alfred's crisp tone drew her ears to him but not her eyes. "Master Bruce permitted Master Richard to bow out of his other engagements for the night, Miss Crock, and has also instructed that I show you to guest quarters if you were intending to stay the night."

As their conversational tradition seemed to be dictating, she paused again. Picking her way through the sentence carefully, Artemis managed to veil, however weakly, her elation at the offer. "I….yeah. That would be great…good, I mean. Thank you." She hadn't even requested to stay and yet the invitation was being extended to her. Maybe they _were_ all smarter- no, not smarter, _cleverer_- than she'd originally assumed.

The rustle of cloth was subtle but deliberate enough to finally pull her gaze towards the two of them. Alfred smiled just slightly as he dipped his head. The smile actually seemed strangely reminiscent of the rare ones Batman would sometimes reward the team with after a difficult mission. Welcoming, prideful, purposeful, as was everything about the dark knight. Though, sometimes Artemis doubted whether Bats_ would_ purposely show as much emotion as she credited him for. Maybe it was just the way the smile contrasted the cowl.

"You'll excuse me then, Miss Crock, as I must prepare your room. Tea will be ready shortly." Alfred didn't wait long enough to hear the customary thanks mumbled after him, but Artemis was fairly confident he would assume he'd been given one.

Dick followed Artemis's retreating eyes back into the room; while she resumed memorizing the subtleties in the cherry wood, he picked out a seat opposite her near the fire. Though her gaze stayed firmly and stubbornly away from the very person she had designated as her weight of sanity, his scrutinized her shamelessly. The look wasn't hostile or particularly unpleasant, but Artemis felt the corners of her lips turn down in a deep frown.

"You know," Dick said finally, leaning further back into his own chair. "You can look at me. I'm not Medusa or anything. I won't turn you to stone."

Her frown twitched upwards slightly. Brat.

Still, she let her gaze flit towards him and return his examination. She was surprised-once again, she noted with vague, unjustifiable annoyance- to find his hair hanging limply over his forehead, unrestrained by the copious amount of gel she had come to expect. It looked like it had been hurriedly adjusted, as hers was whenever she ran her fingers through in place of her comb because her sister decided to make an impromptu visit. There was a thin, pink ring around his eyes, too, something Artemis could only liken to having duct tape attached to and then ripped off your skin.

Then he shifted and she could make out dark bruises pressed into his skin just above his pant hem before he movesd again, his thin shirt concealing them from her once more. When she looked more closely, she could see just the faintest outline of gauze wrapped around his bicep, though his eyes caught hers and he quickly crossed his arms to hide it.

"What happened to you?" Tactless again, Artemis acknowledged silently, though at this point she wasn't sure anyone could expect anything else. If complete and utter tactlessness were lightning, she'd be the one standing on a hilltop in a thunderstorm in copper armor shouting obscenities at gods.

"Nothing," Dick replied smoothly, though it was a more hurried excuse than the ones he usually met her questions with. "Why?"

"You just look…disheveled."

"You don't look particularly hevel-" Artemis only just caught the slight hiccup in his speech as he tried to correct himself without her notice, "heavenly yourself."

They lapsed into silence again, mutual acceptance that neither was keen to explain their appearance flashing between them. The warmth of the fire flooded the space their silence left in the room. Each allowed the other to entertain their own thoughts until Alfred joined them again a minute or so later, trailing what Artemis was sure had to be the scent of lavender and death. She was fairly certain no tea existed on the world that actually smelled so strongly.

"Artemis might need more than a couple heaping teaspoons of sugar, Alfie," Dick warned as Artemis's nose unconsciously wrinkled.

"Miss Crock?"

"What he said," she agreed, and despite the force of the aroma coming from the cup Alfred passed to her, the heat that seeped through her still rooftop-chilled fingers was worth any assault on her other senses. Artemis actually found the smell rather pleasant, anyway.

After Alfred offered him the other china cup, Dick smiled at Artemis through the fingers of steam rising from it and suggested, "There are better rooms in my house to talk. This one's just for Bruce's business associates. It's not supposed to be that welcoming."

Artemis hesitated a moment, just long enough to smile at Alfred's encouraging nod. "Alright," she agreed.

"Great! Follow me." Dick stood up quickly enough that his tea almost sloshed onto what Artemis imagined to be the astonishingly expensive carpet. Amused, though not really for any other reason then how starkly unamusing the rest of the night had been, Artemis jogged to catch up to his surprisingly quick steps.

He led her deeper into the mansion, and once they'd penetrated through what seemed to be a bubbly of formality intended to make a professional initial impression to guests, the hallway was laden with memorabilia. Photographs, framed certificates, an elementary diploma, and other such keepsakes lined the walls. She honestly preferred the ones at home: blank and unrevealing, secretive enough to be comfortable.

Artemis felt even more out of place as the house's cold façade started to peel away, revealing warmth and happiness and family. All she really wanted was to be back in their dank, dirty apartment in the worst part of his Gotham to allow the car alarms and angry shouting to lull her to sleep. She didn't want to be in this clean house with its sweet smelling air.

What exactly had driven her to think Dick Grayson, of all people, was an appropriate kid to pour out her feelings to? The kid that Robin, when he'd finally pestered her into revealing details of her social life, had dismissively dubbed a "dweeb"?

He _was_, and a mathlete to boot, and he had stupid, gelled back hair and a dumb laugh and he texted with complete grammatical accuracy. Sure, he was fun to be around in person and in text, in the late hours of the night or under the table when she was about to fall asleep in class, but he didn't really seem like the serious type.

"What did happen anyway?" Artemis asked, as way to break the silence that had really only been filled by the sound of soft soles on hardwood. "Did the hipsters beat you up for being more ironic than they were?"

"Mmhmm," he agreed easily, "all while declaring, 'There are no hipsters, only Zuul!'"

She shook her head, the mock disappointment never reaching past the turn of her lips. "Seems like a bit of a reference stretch to convince me you're cool."

"Artemis, Artemis," Dick sighed, holding open a door for her, a courtesy she accepts begrudgingly, "do you really think the desire to impress you by being cool could compete with my love of being everything but?"

Artemis scoffed, but in lieu of a clever answer brushed past him, the sharpness with which her eyes scanned the room habitual and paranoid. She appreciated how accommodating he was- the room was comfortably impersonal, a few oil paintings the only embellishment to cream colored walls and stuffy-looking velvet couches. She settled into the closest one with a sigh, closing her eyes to the wealth on display around her. Artemis also relinquished the warming touch of porcelain, placing her cup on one of the side tables.

Dick let her sit there silently for a moment, but she could tell from the slight creaks in the adjacent couch as he shifts that curiosity was eating at him. To his credit, he took at least a full two minutes before broaching the topic.

"Not that spontaneous visits aren't always great, Artemis, but I'm thinking you didn't just come here just to try Alfie's tea."

Artemis had never noticed how interesting her hands were, and she turned them over evasively to study the creases in them. "Yeah," she admitted eventually. "I guess I didn't."

Dick leaned forward in his seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed how very difficult it was for him to restrain his interest. "Tell me."

Something in his tone, some entitlement, like he _deserved_ to know why she'd come made her sit straighter. "Maybe I only came to get out and think. Why makes you think I should tell you anything?"

"Because you're a guest in my house, I seem to be your only source of food and shelter for the night and because it wasn't a suggestion," Dick answered without skipping a beat. It was the same tone of parental command Paula had used, the one that had driven her here. Strangely, in his lilting voice, it made her feel like she was safe in knowing hands, instead of restrained in overprotective ones.

Artemis was still going to protest, of course, but before she could, Dick added, "And because misery doesn't love company, it loves dark places where it can fester and grow. You kinda seem like a petri dish for it right now, Arty."

Her shoulders dropped, resistance gone. She _did_ want to tell him everything. About her father and her mother and the team and Wally and everything that was clawing at her suddenly constricted throat for a chance to be expressed. But for all the earnesty scrawled across his face and the desire to tell him painted hastily over hers, Artemis just wasn't composed enough to articulate any of it. Not without revealing too much. She just sat there, mouth working silently, all coherency rattling uselessly at the back of her skull.

Finally, she managed ever so eloqently: "It's just…every time I think shit can't get more fucked up, it gets _way_ more fucked up."

Dick scooted further to the edge of his couch, silently urging her to continue.

"My father is," Artemis began, then drew further back into the couch, its back feeling more like a restraint than a comfort as she does. "I mean, my mother says that he used to mean well, but…"

Her words trail thinly into the air. The enormity of her life wasn't something that could be dumped haphazardly onto someone. Certainly not if she has an identity to protect.

"You and your dad don't get along?" Dick prompted. "He wants you to change?"

Artemis gave a sharp bark of laughter that was completely devoid of any mirth. No one else could have understated so innocently. Some of the bitterness she felt must have shown on her face, because Dick suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"No," Artemis said, laugh tapering off. She gave a lopsided, almost nasty smile. "No, unless you're talking about changing the current amount of oxygen in my lungs, I think he wants to do a bit more than that. I'm a stain on the Crock name, y'know?

"Around him, being independent is like being radioactive." Her hands were clenched into fists that shook ever so slightly. "He was away for so much of my life, but he still thinks he gets a say in what I do."

Dick nodded encouragingly, but Artemis figured that if he was going to be asking questions, she'd present some of her own, for peace of mind if nothing else.

"Why did it seem like Alfred expected me, anyway?"

Dick shrugged, then offered, "Precognition?"

Artemis snorted. She was perfectly happy to let the conversation end there. Time was wearing her confidence in why she'd come thin. Without dwelling on the decision, she started to make her excuses and leave, but Dick reached across from his couch and grabbed her wrist before she could fully stand.

"Artemis, you obviously came her for a reason. You're family life is bad. Talk about it."

"_Bad_?" Artemis demanded, yanking her hand away with far more force and suddenness than she needed to. When he relinquished his grip, she stumbled back a few steps before she could regain her balance. "Dick, he's _tried to kill me_. He broke a bottle when he was drunk and shoved it at my throat. He pushed me out into a street when I was five claiming it was atonement for Mom going to jail!"

Dick reached for her shoulder but she twisted away before it could touch her. "Artemis, talk to me. Let me help."

"No," Artemis snarled, hands gesturing wildly at nothing. Her eyes burnt and her body shook and she didn't know _why_. God, why did she come at all? "You don't know what I've been through, so don't even try to give me that fake sympathy crap."

Dick brushed away the hand Artemis was holding out to keep him away, only taking two steps to wrap his arms around her. She didn't know how it happened. One second, he was on the other side of the room, at least four feet away, and the next Dick was in Artemis's personal space like he'd been there all morning.

"It's sympathy, not empathy," Dick murmured into her shoulder, his voice muffled by her hair, "so I can give you as much as I damn well please. I'm your friend, Artemis. You're just going to have to get used to it."

They stood there still for a moment, Artemis not returning the hug, but Dick not giving up on his.

"Dick," she managed eventually. "I can't breath."

"You're going to have to tough it out," he grunted. "This is friendship crushing your internal organs."

Still, he slowly uncoiled his arms from her waist and stepped back, a freedom she used to inhale a comically loud breath. They stood there for a moment, silent.

Artemis laughed first, but Dick wasn't far behind.

They didn't know why it was funny. Sometimes you laugh because you don't want to cry. Sometimes you laugh because table manners at the beach are funny. And sometimes you laugh because you're alive and healthy and with your friends when you really probably shouldn't be.

"It wouldn't be so bad if my sister had been there," Artemis admitted quietly, after their laughter had faded. "Cheshire wasn't great, but at least before she left I-"

Artemis's hand flew to her mouth, but the significance of her words wasn't lost on Dick. He was already smiling that smug, knowing smile that made her wonder why she'd ever befriended him in the first place.

Dick clucked his tongue and sat back down, patting the cushion beside him. "I guess someone lost control of her pronouns."

Green Arrow was going to kill her.

* * *

Okay, so I admit. Not a great chapter. It was kind of choppy, but there was a lot I had to abbreviate and dialogue transitioning is really my weak point anyway. Suggestions are always much appreciated!

If anyone caught the Arrowfam comic continuity reference, hooray! Mention it if you end up reviewing. Even if you didn't, any bit of review, even a word or two, would be amazing.

Curious readers can note that there will only be one more relatively long chapter with a break or two more relatively short chapters in the story.


	3. Circumstance

I'd like to thank everyone for sticking with this story through its horrendous update schedule. Here is the longest and final chapter of Here Comes the Anxiety (which is named after a very good song by The Wombats, by the way, which inspired it). I'm really proud of it. Hope you like it.

**Edit**: My Vietnamese was wrong, by the way. Thank you very much to akinos for the correction.

* * *

Artemis didn't take the offered seat, but he didn't seem to expect her to. Her eyes held his, and Dick met the threat in them unwaveringly. The small smile on his lips was still present, but instead of the satire and smugness that usually accompanied it, now it seemed only allied with contentment. It was enough to convince the stiffness in her shoulders to fall, but her fists stayed clenched at her sides, almost to prevent herself from hauling him off the couch and flipping him onto his stupid face so he would agree to keep quiet.

He didn't give her the chance; Dick didn't bother to let her break their conversational custom. He spoke first. "'Cheshire , huh? That's an interesting name." The turn of his lips- the one that eliminated any hopeful, foolish doubt she'd clung to on the subject- made the few sips of pungent tea Artemis had managed to swallow want to come back up.

"My name's Artemis." Her voice was flat, but it did nothing to disguise the disgust she had for herself. It had been meant to sound casual, but didn't even manage it to her own ears. In retrospect, she hadn't _really_ expected him to worm anything compromising out of her, mostly because Artemis had expected her own control to be stronger. Both were stupid assumptions to make.

"Yeah, I guess it is. Funny, then," Dick mused, "that there are two vigilantes with those same names." He clearly didn't think _that _was funny, but her floundering attempts at recovery were hilarious.

Artemis stiffly took a seat on the couch, this stab at composure even more fruitless than the last. It wasn't the only thing she wanted to stab at either, but it seemed to be a one or the other option, and composure took precedence. "Guess I didn't really think of how coincidental that was." That, sadly, wasn't even a lie. She wasn't sure where that would put her point wise; not realizing that her lack of code name could mean leaking her actual name had got to knock her down the bracket, but not lying had to mean a couple bonus points.

"Yeah? Well the mansion gets kinda big and empty, so I research to keep busy. Hero watcher gossip blogs seem to agree that there's a kid hero named Artemis around somewhere. A Green Arrow kid that he's keeping mostly under wraps." The smugness was slowly creeping back into his grin. Artemis wondered if he could help it, or if it was an insidious sort of thing he tried to control. "And as far as the news seems to agree, there was this girl Cheshire who was after Lex Luthor."

Artemis affected her best nonchalance and shrugged. "You learn something new every day."

Dick nodded. "Like identities, eh, _học trò của Green Arrow_?" She winced. The words would have been far harsher had he not used Vietnamese, a language he'd been dedicating himself to for the last few months so she had someone to talk with. Artemis had been doing likewise with Romanian. They had been teasing each other in it for the last few weeks, so the words took on a lightness she knew they wouldn't have had otherwise.

Artemis bit her lip, realizing that he was distracting her by using the language they had intended to bond through. It seemed like a perversion of their friendship's intent. The meaning was just as dangerous, Vietnamese or not: _apprentice of Green Arrow._

"You're being ridiculous," she insisted, crossing her arms and sitting further back into the velvet couch.

Dick sighed, exasperation wearing into his glee. Good. At least he couldn't keep up that grin forever. "Artemis, you get excused from school at least twice a month with shaky excuses at best-"

"I have a lot of health concerns. We've gone over that." Like broken ribs, internal bleeding, being shot at, but health concerns nonetheless.

"You got all the way across Gotham by yourself tonight-"

"I'm not so poor that I can't afford a cab once and a while." Not that it was a liberty she indulged it, by still true.

"You have Daniel Craig biceps."

Artemis didn't have an excuse for that one, but she didn't quite think it was fair that he try to flatter her with her favorite actors.

"Arty, please. I _know_. You're a superhero."

She was a pretty terrible excuse for one at that. She couldn't keep her secret from a thirteen year old brat. The fists returned, curling even tighter and, wow, hey, she felt pretty insulted. Her blood was boiling and her heart was pounding and this little shit thought he could just shove his way into the most private and complicated part of her life uninvited.

"Fine!" Artemis threw her hands up in the air, standing up so fast that her knees pushed the couch a good for six inches back. The black, bitter spite leaked past the guards she'd long ago established to smother it. "You caught me, oh great detective! Want a fucking award?"

"That'd be great actually," Dick smirked, and his omnipresent smirk seemed to endure even through having to dodge her sloppy excuse for a punch. "I can forgo it if it comes with a shiner, though."

"I swear to God, Dick, if you tell anyone I will personally make sure Batman gets his hands on you before the League can." It was a ridiculous threat, she knew, because the Bat would never hurt a kid, no matter the decibels he could scream secrets at, but Gotham elevated their guardian to such a mythical status already she figured she could stamp any personality she needed on him.

Of course he called her bluff, she thought as his laughter split the wedge of silence the threat had driven into the conversation. She collapsed back into the folds of the couch, her fisted hands over her eyes.

"I don't think a guy as important as that would spend his time on me," Dick said finally, leaning over to take up his cup again. "And he won't have to, Arty. I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Better not," Artemis growled, but her hands unclenched slowly and Dick took the opportunity to hop from his claimed couch to hers. She flinched when their hands brushed, but he clearly did his best to ignore it when apology flashed to her eyes after she registered the impulse. His features had softened and it made him seem earnest enough, so Artemis decided to leave the secret in his care for at least the night. Green Arrow could deal with it later.

"Still wanna talk?" Dick asked, and she had to give him points for bothering to get permission, considering he usually didn't give her desires any weight in these conversations. Still, she let the question hang for a minute.

Eventually: "Sure, I guess. Now that there aren't any more secrets between us, it kinda seems like the whole blowing open a secret identity thing would go to waste otherwise."

Dick's smile faltered for a split second, a failing that would have probably been lost on Artemis if archery hadn't sharpened her notice, but before she could comment on it a tray bearing Alfred bustled into the room. Both of their eyes snapped to him. She'd only known him for an hour or two, but Alfred was someone to whom you gave your undivided attention.

"I apologize for the delay, Master Richard, but earlier the two of you seemed predisposed."

Dick looked sidelong at Artemis and smiled. "Of course, Alfie, it's fine."

"Vanilla scone, Miss. Crock?" Alfred bent slightly to offer the platter, and she took one for politeness' sake. She wasn't too fond of sweet things, save the traditional desserts her mother would sometimes manage to scrounge together on their budget. Ginger syrup and bahn choux, on the rare occasions they could afford it, were about the only things she could stomach. And Starburst. Those were good.

"Master Richard, your guest's room has been prepared. I imagine you will be able to show her to it. Unless you require me otherwise, I will retire to await Master Bruce's return."

Dick redirected the question to Artemis and, when she assured him that she was fine, he waved Alfred away with another thank you. Dick snatched the scone from her as soon as the butler had left the room.

"You didn't look like you were going to eat it," he managed after shoving half of it into his mouth.

Artemis snorted. "You eat like Wally."

Dick rubbed a few of the crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. "Who's Wally?"

"He's a friend," she started, forgetting for a moment who it was she was talking to and why it was her hands were still trembling ever so slightly in her lap. Artemis swallowed and added, "A teammate."

"A super teammate?" Dick hummed, and the way he stressed super made her roll her eyes.

Still, she allowed the admission past her lips. "Yeah. Kinda one of my problems, too."

"Tell me about it," he urged, and this time Artemis didn't recoil or resist. She did.

She recounted the members of her team, and how they could love her so much and still make her feel so alone. She described her feelings for Wally, and the fears that he would reject her the moment one of them found out about the family she had inherited. She talked about the small glimmer of attraction she used to have towards Superboy and then Robin, glaring a Dick when he giggled and mentioned that he'd love to see how Green Arrow and Batman would react to that. She traced back her history, told him about her mother's time in jail and her sister's neglect and her father's drunken blows late in the night. She explained her worry that she had never really earned her place by Green Arrow's side, that it was just something given to her out of pity. She even detailed Paula and Jade, not as Huntress and Cheshire but as her mother and sister, and how sometimes she would wake up covered in sweat because if the Light or the League of Assassins wanted to kill either of them, she didn't think she'd be able to stop it.

As the short hand of the clock on the wall above their heads swept across its face, past the one and the two and the three, Artemis told him everything she could think of, every pain knotted in her chest and delight she had managed to smother them with. Dick was silent as she spoke, only asking for an occasional clarification or bumping her shoulder with his to pull her from the misery of a particularly raw memory. Sometimes she would laugh, and he would follow her lead, but more often than not Dick would let her sink into silence while she trembled and shook as she tried to fight back the emotion welling to her eyes, because Artemis Crock wouldn't cry. She clenched her fists or wrapped her arms across her chest or lashed out but she, under no circumstances, cried.

"Did you ever think of leaving?" Dick asked eventually, after the histories had finally tapered off into silence. Their tea sat on the table next to them, cold and forgotten, and Artemis withdrew her reach for it when she wasn't greeted with the warm touch she was expecting. "I mean, with everything Gotham and heroing has put you through, did you ever consider just walking away? Why not go to Star City to focus on being Artemis? Or just leave the hero gig period?"

Artemis wanted to brush away the questions, but she couldn't negate it. In truth, she had considered it a thousand times. A hundred reasons why she never could waited on her tongue- responsibility, the Team, fear of turning out like Jade, worry over her mother- but none of them were really the truth, and she was trying a new thing where she actually trusted people with that.

"Yeah," she admitted, smothering another of her increasingly frequent yawns. "I have. But Gotham," Artemis' mouth quirked into an odd sort of half smile, touching on a fondness she didn't realize she had for the place, "Gotham is my city. If I can't stick with it, how can I expect anyone else to stick with me?" Gotham, at least, was just as broken as she was.

Even while they spoke, Artemis had faded to a sort of hazy state between being awake and being asleep and didn't even notice when Dick matched her smile and pointed out how late it had gotten. He poked her and she jolted up. His sympathetic smile reminded her how terrible she looked and that their heart to heart has done absolutely nothing to mitigate it.

"I know you're tired and Imma let you finish, but maybe you wanna sleep in an actual bed." She looks at him dumbly for a moment, sluggish brain uncomprehending, then, "It's late."

"Early, you mean. Late passed." Artemis squinted through exhaustion strained eyes at the clock. 4:52.

"Shall I show you to your room, m'lady?" Dick stood up and swept into a low bow, offering a hand to Artemis.

"Only if you stop talking like that."

Dick made a face but agreed nonetheless. "Got it."

The room he led Artemis to was simple, but she was fairly certain it was bigger than her living room and kitchen together. A bed sat against the middle of the far wall, flanked by a vanity and dresser. The walls continued the beige trend set by the hallway, but these were just a shade darker, more welcoming.

"This good?"

Artemis nodded. "Better than my digs."

"You could probably earn some money for better 'digs' as a social media organizer, what with your fancy, up-to-date parlance."

"You just said the word parlance, so don't even talk to me." She rolled her shoulders and leaned into the doorframe, slipping off her sweatshirt when it finally occurred to her that she could. The strap of the quiver she had hidden under it had pressed a pattern into her skin, and Artemis was more than relieved to finally get it off her shoulder.

Dick looked her up and down curiously, and Artemis was still slight irked by how shameless he was. "So that's your costume? Very Green Arrow wannabe."

"I am his ___học trò __,_" she said, flicking his arm in minor reparation. "You aren't going to tell anyone about that, right?"

"Cross my heart and hope to resist the lure of gossip."

She narrowed her eyes, but decided to let his lightness on the topic drop. "Good night, Dick. And I mean that both ways."

She started to close the door, but he stuck a foot against it before she fully could. "You're sure you're okay for the night?"

"Better than I've been in a while. I'll be fine."

"Actually fine, or 'Dick'll wake up with a horse head in his bed tomorrow' fine?"

Artemis rolled her eyes kicked his foot from its blockade of the door. "Actually fine. Go to bed."

"Night, Arty!" Dick called through the closing door, and his footsteps retreated to whatever part of the manor his bedroom was tucked into. It was strange, really, how happy she was right then, through the bleariness and aches; she had reason enough to be upset and she should probably have been thinking about what she was going to say to Green Arrow and the team later- she was going to see them the next night, she couldn't not say anything because they were her family and this wouldn't just compromise her. There were plenty of compromising things she'd keep to herself- nominally her family- but civilians figuring out an identity was particularly bad. But she found that her attempts to think about what to say were thwarted by the most profound sense of relief she could imagine. She didn't even remember everything she admitted to him or everything they talked about, just that they did, and, hey, Dick's not bad company in a place of misery—he's not bad company at all. With shoulders lighter than she could remember in years, Artemis dropped her weapons to the carpet and fell into bed, met with one of the soundest sleeps she would ever have

* * *

Artemis's alarm was loud and obnoxious enough that she was surprised to find that it didn't do its job of jogging her from her dreams, though it was a sound she'd grown accustomed to and maybe that was part of it. A tiny icon in her phone screen's corner reminded her that she'd gotten a message earlier, one of the mass texts the Academy's media organizers would send. _Inclimate weather. Classes cancelled for the day._ She yawned and did her best to avoid the temptation to rest her eyes again, distracting herself by searching for flaws in the paint on the ceiling. After a few minutes, she was properly awake and rolled out of bed, tucking her phone into the pocket of her sweatpants, whose ripeness she does her best to ignore. A peek past the curtains that framed the wide window on the opposite wall did reveal dreary, gray skies but whatever rain that there had been earlier seemed to have passed already.

It would explain why it was ten and Dick hadn't frantically woken her up so they could go to school, though without the text she would have just as easily attributed it to him forgetting she'd slept over. After one more paranoid glance at her phone, she retrieved her bow and quiver from where she'd dropped them the night before and concealed them under the sweatshirt again. Her hair was a whole other demon to tackle, so Artemis settled for restraining it into haphazard braid and pulling the hood over the frizzy mess that it ended up settling into.

It took her a few minutes to navigate her way through the huge mansion and would've taken considerably longer if Alfred- Alfred _Pennyworth_, he informed her when she asked- hadn't intercepted her exploration to direct her to the dining room.

"Young Master Richard insisted that he make breakfast for you," he'd said, and she could almost hear how sorry he was for that.

As she trudged down the indicated hall, it occurred to her how much Dick had screwed her up, taking her from the contented school charity and secret vigilane case to the girl who'd stayed overnight at the house of the richest and most desired boy in school and slightly less secret vigilante. Before then, she'd been satisfied with her lot, able to convince herself that smothering was something everyone did since she'd never had proof that they didn't. Artemis had been able to lull herself into that security. It worked for her. She could deal because she was one of a kind, original, and she was gonna kick insecurity in the face, or at least push it away with a ten foot pole.

Until she met Dick Grayson.

Dick Grayson with the seemingly endless supply of hair gel and even greater supply of things to say, from the moment she steps onto school grounds to the moment they part ways after their shared P.E. class. Dick Grayson, with his witty commentary at the expense of whoever happens to be in front of the class and his obstinate debates whenever they happen to disagree. Dick Grayson, the boy now known as Artemis's speed because even though she used to pass him with little more than a thought, he'd been ubiquitous since that still unexplained photo the first day of school. He managed to outcompete her need for sleep and her failings in math and, apparently, even her caution, the one frontier she'd stayed secure in. Dick Grayson managed to leap into her life like he's always been there, but Artemis hadn't minded much, events of the night before aside.

His father seems to, though.

He's there when she finally finds her way into the dining room or dining space or dining closet, whatever rich people called these. It was about twice the size of her bedroom, but she was certain that there had to be other ones. What else could a mansion be filled with but duplicate rooms? There was too much space for every other door to just lead to a hot tub.

Bruce Wayne was slightly paler than his ward's Romani complexion, but his dark hair and calculating blue eyes were strangely reminiscent of Dick. He stood when she came into the room, laying the latest _Gazette_ onto the table, and the resemblance was immediately lost in his towering height, a good two foot advantage over her.

"Uh…Mr. Wayne, right?"

He nodded. "Artemis Crock, I assume? Dick's mentioned you on occasion. I see you stayed the night."

There was the slightest hint of accusation tacked to the end of the sentence, not enough for Artemis to be sure that she hadn't imagined it but she bristled all the same.

Dick's lilting baritone- and she could guarantee she'd never associate "lilting" with any baritone other than his- followed his father's before she could reply. Briefly, she wondered if he actually had impeccable timing, or if he just waited giggling to himself for the perfect moment to interject into the conversation.

"You said she could, Bruce, right? We stayed up a little late and I put her up in that third guest suite on the second floor." He put him arm around Artemis to the best of his ability, which did entail standing on his toes, and smiled at the man. She noticed that he still had flour powdering his hair and that the dusting of white trailed down his circus elephant pajamas. So Dick had been cooking after all.

Bruce raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Instead he turned to Artemis and smiled. It startled her for a moment, because a man that large and imposing should not be so easily placated. "The table won't be so empty for breakfast, then."

She returned the smile uneasily- his sudden change in demeanor had thrown her off- and sat down in the seat Dick offered to her. When he took an adjacent one, Artemis leaned over and whispered, "Where were you?"

"The depths of burnt food hell," he replied, his voice less hushed than hers. He placed a plate she hadn't noticed before on the table- it must have been tucked under his other arm- and she scrutinized the blackened disks of batter with a turning stomach. "Wanna try?"

Artemis took one of them delicately and nibbled on a corner. She chewed in over-exaggerated motions for a moment, like she was actually considering whether they were good or not, before declaring, "They're dry and tasteless."

"They're made from your humor," he scowled, and Artemis grinned.

"How hard can making waffles actually be, Dickie?"

"Hey, that Brown's Waffle Mix stuff you get at Shop n' Go is really delicious but way too complicated for me."

"I wouldn't give Master Richard too much credit, Miss Crock," Alfred added from the post he'd taken at the door behind them. "His failure in the kitchen can be largely explained by his attempts to crisp up the waffles in a skillet." She wasn't going to anyway. Artemis had made that stuff before. All you had to do was add milk and eggs.

"Speaking of, Alfie, could you-?"

"-remedy your current lack of an edible breakfast? Of course, sir."

"Thank you," Dick called as Alfred disappeared into what she assumed was the kitchen, a sentiment Artemis added her own voice to. She'd rather eat her own cooking than Dick's at this point.

"You didn't tell me I'd have to talk to your dad," Artemis whispered once Dick looked back to her, but there was enough frustration in this one to turn it to a hiss.

"Legal guardian," Dick corrected quickly before adding, "I didn't expect him to be up this early without a morning meeting. Sunshine kinda depresses him."

Artemis felt Bruce's eyes on her and when she turned to meet them, he held up a remote. "Do either of you mind my turning on the news?" The two of them shook their heads and the screen that hung on the wall across from them flickered to life to hum Good Morning, Gotham. They were showing footage of the Batman appearances of the night before, a panel of people debating his legitimacy over the montage. Artemis snickered when they paused over a clip pulled from security cameras. A blurry, indistinct Batman drew a collapsed sword from his belt and unfolded it with the press of a button before slicing through the advance of Clock King robots.

"What doesn't he have in that belt?" she snorted.

"Patience," Dick mockingly dropped his voice as far as he could, rasping the word, "for harlequin hoodlums like yourself!"

"Oh, and you'd know?"

He scoffed, leaning back into the chair that looked old enough to creak but expensive enough to defy the laws of time. "Of course. I know so much about Batman I could… I could beat him in a fight!"

"You wouldn't stand a chance if you had all of Seal Team 6 at your back."

"Hey, I totally would! I'm _street smart_."

Artemis snorted and plucked a pair of scones off the tray Alfred had reappeared with. "Which street? Sesame?"

"What do you think of the Batman, Artemis?"

She had honestly forgotten that Dick's father-guardian, or whatever he was, was in the room with them and Artemis could feel the hot realization crawl up to touch her cheeks. Had it been her sister, there would have been wild accusations of flirting.

Still, the answer came easily and Artemis had to hold her tongue to keep it from rolling off suspiciously quick. "I think he does a necessary job, and that people are only against him because he brings to attention that we need that job done in the first place."

"Well there's that whole vigilante thing," Dick added, hooking his pointer fingers in front of his mouth to look like fangs. "Creature of the night with no regard for the law."

"He doesn't kill and he doesn't torture and as far as I'm concerned as long as he only scares _crooks_ so bad that they piss themselves, Batman's good by me."

"Just like that? The bats in Gotham's belfry don't scare _you_ at all?"

There was a question that begged hesitation. It was strange; she remembered days in Gotham playgrounds where kids would say that Batman wasn't that scary, that he was like a garbage man with cool, explosive toys cleaning up after all the villains and keeping the city safe, but Artemis couldn't help it- she'd always fear him a little bit, if only because he was the opposite of what she was supposed to grow up to be. Even now, when she'd warmed up as much as anyone could to the company of the man himself- save Robin, who probably played hide and seek with the guy in the batcave- he was still the most intimidating person she could imagine.

Eventually: "Not as much as the idea of a Gotham without them."

Bruce nodded, and she used the lull in conversation to sneak a bite of the scone. Even these were too sweet for her taste, but she rolled the tangier bits of orange in them around her taste buds and enjoyed the flavor of wealth anyway. "How do you feel about him, Mr. Wayne?"

"I've debated the legitimacy of his activities myself, but I don't think Gotham can afford to do away with him. It's interesting to have your take on him. A unique opportunity."

Her insides turned to lead and the chunk of scone lodged in her throat. "Why _my_ take?"

"A fellow vigilante would certainly see things differently than a civilian, correct?"

"Yeah," Artemis replied shortly, standing abruptly from the table. Her fingers curled into Dick's collar to all but haul him into the next room. "I guess we would."

The next room, as it turned out, wasn't the kitchen but rather what appeared to be some sort of intermediary, since the walls were hidden behind racks of plates and silverware and the cheery whistling and clanking the accompanied a cook were coming from behind a door on the far wall. Artemis carded her fingers through her hair, fighting back a newer wave a nausea, which, it seemed, were paired with sudden and crippling headaches.

"You told him?" she demanded, but Dick shook his head insistently.

"He didn't have to." Artemis winced, and traded a wide-eyed horror with Dick's (she was sure faked) confusion. The voice had come from behind them, but was far too close to be from the man they had left sitting at the far side of the table. Bruce had moved from his chair way faster than he should have been able to.

Dick smiled sheepishly at his father-guardian before returning to the placating frown. "Ears like a bat," he explained to Artemis apologetically.

"You left this in the foyer." Bruce fished into his pockets when he reached them and presented a green mask to Artemis, the same dark shade as the uniform she concealed under the sweatshirt.

"Shit," Artemis cursed, not even caring to mediate her language so she was more presentable to the billionaire. She snatched it from him with one hand while the other searched desperately through her front pocket to confirm that, yes, she had dropped it when she had arrived the night before.

Bruce looked slightly bemused, and it was an expression she had long ago decided had no place in serious matters like these. "Rest assured: your secret is safe in this house. I promise that to you, Artemis Crock." He glanced at his watch, which was glowing a faintly alarming red. "I have to go."

Dick caught his sleeve before he could brush past them like nothing had happened and there was a hint of imploring in his eyes. Bruce shook his head faintly and Dick's apologetic frown deepened to a resentful one.

"I should probably go," Artemis hummed, embarrassed to have entangled herself this deeply in the Waynes. A vindictive streak in her hoped that the others on the team had as hard a time maintaining their secret identities as she seemed to.

As soon as Dick's grip loosened on Bruce, the older man took his leave and Dick sidled closer to Artemis. "Sorry about all this," he offered, gesturing broadly in what she assumed meant her whole experience at the manor. He didn't have to apologize for it all, she supposed, but it's a nice gesture. "You don't have to go yet."

"I know. But even with school being cancelled, Mom's still at home. She's probably worried."

Dick nodded. "So long as you don't go home a big ball of barely restrained Wayne-directed rage."

Well, she wasn't going to Stepford Wives it and pretend that everything was peachy, but most of the frustration was directed at herself. "I'll try not to."

"Hey, school's out. I'm sure there are some delinquents causing trouble. You could take out all that stress by punching some of them."

"That's not great advice." Artemis frowned, rolling it over teasingly for a second before punching him in the arm. It was hard enough to leave a half-bracelet of bruises on his shoulder, though she didn't realize until after her fist had connected. "But thanks."

Dick rubbed the sore spot, wincing as his fingers skated over it. "Glad I could help. I'll always be here to give you immoral support." At her bequest, he started to lead her to the door, and as they walked he added, "I'm serious about the support thing. If you need to talk, I'm here."

"Thanks, Dick."

"It would behoove you to come here for help," he said, then snapped his fingers. "Two points for word usage. Brainy is sexy now."

Artemis rolled her eyes. Hard. "_Thanks_, Dick."

As they reached the door, where Alfred had once again miraculously anticipated their being and awaited them beside it, Dick added hesitantly, "Please don't take this wrong, Arty…I'll be at your disposal whenever you need me but maybe a call before hand?"

"Got it, Dick. It's cool. A little more consideration for my hosts. Hakuna Matata."

Alfred opened the door and Artemis pulled her bunched up sleeves down to cover her hands against the barrage of cold air, relieved when her brief moment of hesitation was interrupted by Dick. "Thanks for trusting me with this, Arty. Be safe." There was a certain _plead_ there that Artemis just couldn't find a reason for.

Feeling had never been Artemis's forte. When faced with them, she tended to resolve it the issue by punching the offending emotion in the face and stomping away to eat gummy worms and violently chew said feeling out of her system. And Artemis Crock, under no circumstances, cried. But this had been nice, and if anything, she needed more time for nice. So Artemis swallowed her pride, for the briefest of moments, and pulled Dick into a bone crushing hug. Her fingers dug into his back, meeting the taut resistance of spandex under flannel that she had been searching for, before she pulled away, face painted with a wider grin than he'd managed to charm out of her since they saved the team from the Reds.

"I will," Artemis promised, a slight hum in her voice that, if he'd registered its self-satisfaction, might have been one Dick could mistake for being modeled after his own. She stepped through the door, arms crossed to brace her against the icy wind, before adding to meet his slowly dawning realization, "Stay traught, Batboy. See you tonight."

* * *

I would like to sincerely thank everyone who read and especially everyone who left a review, namely Alex Skywalker, TSRosenwood, Angel of Mysteries, lolastarr50, Amelie Nockturne (whose name I keep misspelling), ashley, Vi-Violence, FudoTwin17, rafiki-freak, SailorSaturnthesilencer, fanficfantasies, Syl, Your Local Cow (who I feel like I'm insulting when I write that name) and the unnamed guest. I honestly just stared at your reviews until I was inspired enough to write.

By the way, there is already a 60some% follow-up oneshot written if anyone wants to stay on the lookout for that.

Thank you all so much for indulging my writing. I'd love to answer questions and hear what you thought. Have a wonderful day.


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